Joey
by funkyspunky871
Summary: Joey
1. First

I was 13 when I lost my virginity. His dorm reeked of boy: dirty socks and sweat hidden under a thick cloud of musty cologne bought from a drugstore; cardboard boxes soaked with grease from a late night study session; unread books piled on shelves no longer dusted by mom. I sat down on his bed, legs crossed and shoes off, and watched as he rolled us a joint. I mimicked his demeanor, his posture, and his silence as we passed it back and forth - mimicking being a bad habit of mine in an unconscious effort to be liked. Each time our fingers touched, a strange feeling passed over me. It was like every prepubescent hair on my body was charged with electricity. The expression of his face as he lifted his chin up, blowing smoke to the ceiling, suggested that he didn't feel the same. Yet, when he leaned over and kissed me, I convinced myself that I was the only thing on his mind. His lips tasted as pungent as the weed we smoked and before I knew it, he was on top of me. The feeling of his erection against my thigh grounded me in that moment. It was like stepping off an airplane after a 12 hour flight - my back arched and my toes curled, relieved to be on solid ground once again.

It was over quicker than it began. He let go of me and rolled over, taking the blanket with him. When I pressed my body against his back, he sleepily pushed me away. I ached to be touched again but said nothing. So, instead, I pulled up my pants and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to slip my shoes back on. I sat there for a while, staring at the blinking red light emanating from his alarm clock on the bedside table. All at once, I felt used and dirty and complete and peaceful. It's a feeling that's stuck with me ever since. A feeling that I get to recreate each time I'm on set.


	2. Cody

Joey slammed his hand against the emergency button. The elevator ground to a halt, descending to the next available floor and bobbing slightly as he stepped out. He ran down a hallway, identical yet eerily foreign to the floor he lived on, and shoved open the heavy door at the end. A flock of pigeons fluttered away from the intruder, shooting into the sky like missiles, and the fire escape groaned softly underneath the new weight. He grasped the rusty metal railing, hands over his head as he stooped down, vomiting. The sugary contents of his stomach burned his throat and his lips. It dripped, mixing with his tears, through the grate below his feet and onto the concrete several stories down. Joey hated rejection.


	3. Paul

_He doesn't want you._

 _There's something wrong with you._

Joey dropped to his knees, unbuttoning Paul's jeans in front of him and pulling them down around his thighs. He pressed his lips against his exposed skin. It's warmth momentarily cleared his mind, letting him focus on the feeling of Paul's fingers in his hair, the smell of soap designed for men, the salty taste of a day spent lounging at the beach. Joey looked up at him as he mouthed him through his boxers, adding Paul's moans to the cacophony of senses that let him forget how pathetic he really was. After all, Joey only ever felt useful with a dick in his mouth or his ass in the air.

 _He won't even touch you._

 _There's something wrong with you._


	4. The Gang

_Hey, you'd tell him if they did... anything else to you, right?_

 _Yeah._

The concrete was cool against his cheek. Devoid of warmth from the previous day, an alley like this never saw much sunlight anyway. Joey coughed, bright red blood spattering the pavement, as a kick connected with his ribs. He felt another to his hip. His stomach. His shoulder. And then two hands, hooked beneath his pelvis, pulling it up and away from the ground, dragging the upper half of his limp body backward, bruising his bare knees as they took on the uneven weight of his final position.

He stayed quiet, listening to the drunken moans of the man moving inside him, the undoing of a belt buckle as another took his place, the quelling of an argument of who's turn was next. Arms folded right beneath his chest, Joey felt the thud of his heart - its rhythm in stark contrast to the hurried pounding behind him. He closed his eyes.

This wasn't quite the touch he craved, but it was close enough.


End file.
